


Spit

by davidornate



Series: Sex and Sweat: The One-Shots [2]
Category: Michael C. Hall - Fandom
Genre: Anal Sex, Barebacking, Dominance, Gay, Gay Sex, Humiliation, M/M, Paparazzi, Public Humiliation, Public Sex, Rape/Non-con Elements, Rough Sex, Self-Insert, Sex, Spanking, Spit As Lube, Spit Kink, Verbal Humiliation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-23
Updated: 2019-09-23
Packaged: 2020-09-26 03:47:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,673
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20383165
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/davidornate/pseuds/davidornate
Summary: Michael C. Hall gets tired of being followed around with a camera.





	Spit

**Author's Note:**

> Reader’s POV. Basically a self-insert fantasy-type deal. I just wanted to throw a disclaimer out there since I’m writing about an actual, living human being rather than a character that this is purely fantasy and does not reflect Michael’s true personality or disposition toward fans and paparazzi. He’s actually incredibly sweet, patient, and soft-spoken.

All I wanted to do was get a photo of him. I had my camera with me, and he’d popped up all alone walking along the sidewalk across the street that bordered Central Park. This was the perfect opportunity to get a shot of Michael C. Hall, the man of Dexter and Six Feet Under fame and in every respect my favorite actor of all time. The click of the camera shutter echoed in my brain each time it went off.

Meanwhile, Michael seemed totally preoccupied with something on his phone. His eyebrows were knotted in something akin to concern—or perhaps even annoyance or anger. A Brian Eno cap covered most of his scowl, and he was clad in dark-colored sweats elsewhere. It seemed like he was out for a convenience store run, or maybe he was out to get some air from whatever was causing him grief. It was the middle of the night, so there was really no one out save for the occasional police officer or drunk businessman.

The shots I got weren’t all that great. He was too far away, and the time of day just made things worse; I needed to get closer. I slowed my walking pace so that the distance between us closed a little. I was so intent on the actual act of taking the photos that I barely noticed he had become aware of my presence before him, half-crouched with a giant camera along Central Park West.

A look of repugnance at my presence crossed his face. “I don’t have time for this bullshit right now,” he barked. “Just fuck off for once!”

Heat crept up the collar of my shirt. I acted as if I hadn’t heard him. Click.

“What the fuck did I say?” He ran toward me and reached out to clamp a hand over my camera lens. Before I knew it, the device had been torn from my hands and was now cradled in one of his arms like a football.

My eyes went wide as he manhandled the most expensive camera I owned. “Hey—”

“What the fuck did I just say to you?” He used his free hand to jab a finger into my chest, which stung upon contact. “I told you to fuck off.”

I lifted my arms into the air to prove to him he had won. I just wanted my camera back so I could leave. I looked around in the hopes a cop had seen our exchange, but there was no one. “Okay,” I said. “Fine. Give me my camera back, and I’ll fuck off. I’m sorry, man.”

“I can’t trust you to fuck off after I’ve asked you twice and you didn’t listen either time.” He approached me almost menacingly, I kept backing away only for him to close the distance. “I can’t trust you to listen to me.”

“I swear to God I’ll listen if you give me my camera.”

“I don’t think you will.” He seized the front of my collar with his free hand and pushed me around the corner of the sidewalk down a mostly unlit side street.

I stammered, trying to come up with a response. He placed the camera on the ground with care next to us before focusing his attention on me.

“I’ll teach you not to pull this shit again, boy,” he growled. He slammed me against the wall so that my stomach grazed against the brick of the building. With one hand, he grabbed me by the hair and mashed my face against the wall. With the other, he hooked it into the backside of my jeans and yanked downward, exposing my bare ass. “Fucking entitled prick. Look at you—you aren’t even wearing briefs. Slut.”

I heard a zipper being tugged down and the sound of him spitting, followed by the feeling of fingers exploring my most intimate areas. He was lathering my asshole with his own saliva.

“What the fuck…?”

He shoved his dick into me forcefully and without warning. It hurt, though only at first; I was used to getting fucked in the ass. What I wasn’t used to, on the other hand, was having it done to me while I stood there completely helpless. I howled in shock as he pounded into me.

The hand that still held my face against the wall released me long enough to smack me in the back of the head before returning to its original position, except this time my glasses frame snapped and fell apart when my skull met the brick. Wetness suddenly spattered on my cheek and dripped down onto the shoulder of my shirt, and I realized he’d spit on my face. Fuck.

“Mm,” he moaned. “Nice and tight. You ever been fucked like this before? All in the open for everyone to see what a fucking slut you are?”

I tried to gather my bearings as he rhythmically thrust into my ass. My nails scraped against the brick wall in front of me. I couldn’t help but feel aroused that he was taking me so brutally and so publicly; anyone who passed by would be able to see him fuck me like this. The heat grew between my legs—as did my dick. “N-no.”

Without warning, he pulled out of my ass and grabbed my neck with both hands. He hurled me face-down onto the pavement before placing a Birk-clad foot on the small of my back and wrenching my head back by my hair. Tears flooded my eyes.

“You and those manners,” he growled into my ear. “I think we need to set some fucking ground rules, don’t you think?” He swatted my cheek hard enough to leave a red mark, and my dick was hard as a goddamn rock. “You ask before you cum, and you don’t cum unless I let you. You don’t fucking breathe unless I let you. And when you refer to me, I am ‘Sir’, you fucking whore. Got that?”

“Yes,” I yelped. Goddammit.

He let go of my hair and began spanking me repeatedly. “Wrong, wrong, wrong, wrong,” he chanted each time his palm made contact with my skin. “Once again, when you refer to me, I am ‘Sir’. Do you fucking understand, you incompetent slut?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Good.” He peeled off my jeans the rest of the way, straddled me on the ground, and put his dick in me again. What started as slow humping built up speed, and the slap of his balls against my ass mingled with animalistic moaning. He nibbled on my ear. “You like being fucked like this, don’t you?”

I groaned, nodding. “Yessir.”

“You like being called a whore with my cock up your ass, yeah?”

“Yes’r.” By this point, my syllables were slurred with pleasure. My eyes rolled into the back of my head, and my breath became ragged.

“Oh, no,” he said mischievously. “You can’t cum yet. I’m not done using you.”

He flipped me over onto my back. This was the first time I got a good look at him while he fucked me. Granted, my glasses were broken and it was almost pitch dark, but—nevertheless—I got an unobstructed view of him towering over my powerless body. I didn’t remember him taking off his sweatpants at any point, but they were off and in a pile beneath his knees to shield them from the hard ground below. His hair was stringy with sweat and trembled with every thrust. The muscles in his toned thighs flexed. Reddish-gray whiskers coated his face, and his eyebrows were furrowed in concentration. He was so fucking gorgeous. He propped his hands against the back of my knees and pushed them up closer to my body, leaning forward so that he could shove every inch of his massive cock inside me.

“Yes,” he hissed, picking up the pace of his brutal assault on my body. “Open your mouth, boy. Open up.”

I instantly opened wide. He spat. Most of his saliva landed on the corners of my mouth, but some dribbled onto my tongue and down onto my chin.

His moans became more frequent, signaling his climax was fast approaching. “I want you to touch yourself. I want to see you jerk off like the dirty little slut you are.”

I obeyed, eagerly grasping my manhood as if my life depended on it. I was losing my fucking mind. He continued drilling me into oblivion.

“Oh, my God,” I wailed. “I’m gonna fucking cum. Can I cum, sir? Please, sir, can I cum? Please, sir...” I babbled incoherent nonsense.

“Fucking hot little twink.” He grinned slyly. “Go ahead. Cum for me while my dick is buried in your asshole, boy.”

I resisted the urge to scream out as I shot my load all over the front of my shirt, which was now drenched in sweat and coated in dirt. He must have timed things perfectly because he followed suit with a few hard thrusts before filling me with his cum. I shut my eyes and relished the feeling of his cock twitching inside me.

He pulled out as soon as he’d finished, though, and I was left feeling empty without him. He’d dressed himself quickly so that by the time I opened my eyes once more, he was fully clothed and cradled my camera in his arms, waiting for me to get my shit together. My face burned red in humiliation. He stared down at me expectantly while I put my jeans back on.

I stood up slowly. My ass was sore from the pounding, and I cringed as I felt his cum leaking out onto the back of my trousers. He handed me my camera and my broken glasses with a small smile and a pat on the shoulder.

“Hope I catch you around sometime again, kid. You’re a nice stress-reliever.” With that, he trailed off into the New York night and left me behind with my camera intact and a shirt soaked in my own jizz.


End file.
